


video games

by squadrickchestopher



Series: Filthy Porn Fridays [7]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Cock Rings, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Nudes, Overstimulation, Safe Sane and Consensual, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, clint barton's kazoo collection, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27283597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher
Summary: Clint is jealous of Steve taking up Bucky’s time. Bucky figures out a way to let Clint know he’s still the most important thing.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Filthy Porn Fridays [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860367
Comments: 18
Kudos: 157
Collections: Clintucky Fried Bunnies, Thwip & Hari's Kinktober '20





	video games

**Author's Note:**

> Filthy Porn Friday! This one inspired by a kinktober prompt. Thanks to all my discord friends for cheering me on, I could never do this kind of thing without you!

“You have to go out _again?_ ”

Bucky pauses while pulling on his shirt, looking at Clint with apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Steve asked me—”

“Okay, but you’ve been helping him for weeks.” Clint knows he’s whining, but he can’t stop himself. He sits up and reaches for Bucky. “I just...I miss you.”

Bucky’s face softens, and he leans over, pressing a kiss to Clint’s head. “I know, love. I’m sorry.”

Clint sighs. “Can you just tell Steve to fuck off? Just for once?”

It’s an unfair question, and he knows what the answer will be before Bucky even opens his mouth. “I can’t, Clint. I made a promise.”

Clint grumbles under his breath and flops back onto the bed. “ _I’m_ gonna tell him to fuck off,” he says. “You’re _my_ boyfriend, and I haven’t seen you in almost a month.”

“Didn’t know you were so possessive,” Bucky jokes. Clint flashes him a smile, but he’s really not joking. He’s barely seen Bucky for more than a few days these past few weeks. He know Steve needs help with something—he doesn’t know _what_ , and neither Bucky nor Steve will tell him—but he still thinks it’s slightly unfair that Steve fucking Rogers is getting to see Bucky more than he is.

“I’m just saying,” he mutters, and directs his glare at the ceiling. “I’m getting tired of waking up to an empty bed.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, and he grins. “So you miss the sex? Is that what it is?”

It’s the everything, really. It took Clint a long time to get used to having Bucky around, to have someone sharing his space. He got used to bumping into him in the bathroom, and sitting across from him at breakfast, and rolling over to find him on the other side of the bed. And now he’s suddenly gone all the time, and Clint doesn’t like it. His toothbrush is lonely. The table is too big. The bed is cold and empty.

He’s probably being a baby about it, but honestly, he doesn’t care. He wants his boyfriend back. Steve fucking Rogers can handle his own damn shit.

Bucky’s hand slides along his cheek. “Hey,” he says softly. “Clint.”

“I just want you home,” Clint says, and he hates how broken he sounds about it. It’s stupid and pathetic and he cringes away, rolling onto his side so he doesn’t have to see the pity in Bucky’s eyes. “Never mind. Go play with Steve. It’s fine.”

“Hey,” Bucky says again, sharper this time, and he tugs Clint’s shoulder, rolling him onto his back. “Look at me, darlin’.”

Clint blinks up at him, biting his lip. “What,” he says, gruffer than he means it to be.

“I love you,” Bucky says. “I love you very much, and I don’t want you to think for a second that you don’t matter.” He leans down and kisses Clint, insistent and loving. “Because you do. More than anything. But I also made a promise to Steve, and I need to see it through. Okay?”

“Okay,” Clint mutters, tightening his grip as Bucky starts to stand up. “Kiss me.”

“I just did, doll.”

“Again.”

Bucky does, then gently tugs Clint’s hands off him. “I have to go.”

_Stay with me,_ Clint wants to say, but he’s already being a needy bastard, so he clamps his mouth shut and lets Bucky go.

“Check your email tonight,” Bucky says to him as he straightens up.

“Why?”

“Because I’m sending you something.”

Clint smiles. “Like what?”

“You’ll see,” Bucky says mysteriously, strapping a gun holster to his thigh. It’s unreasonably hot, really, and Clint sits up so he can have a better view of it all. “I also left you a present in your closet. You can’t open it until you get the email.”

“You have a lot of faith in my self-restraint,” Clint says, watching eagerly as he tucks a couple knives into his belt. “What’s gonna stop me from going in there and opening it once you’re gone?”

“Because you love me, and I told you not to.” Bucky grins at him, and Clint scowls back. Bucky’s got him there. Clint is a stubborn asshole about following orders, but Bucky knows how to push his buttons, and Clint’s so damn easy for him that he doesn’t even think about disobeying.

“Alright, fine,” he grumbles, and stretches, smirking a little as his arms move overhead, and Bucky’s eyes follow them. “How long are you gonna be gone?”

“Not sure,” Bucky admits, still staring at his arms. “Uh. Couple days, probably.”

Clint scowls again. “Not fair.”

“I know it’s not.” Bucky shoves another knife into place. “We’re gonna have a chat about it. I miss you too.” He does his usual pat-down, checking for all his weapons, then nods. “Okay. I gotta run. I love you. Be a good boy for me.”

It’s fucking Pavlovian, those words, something in Clint’s gut tightening at them. He manages a strangled noise of assent as heat suffuses through him. “I promise.”

Bucky grins at him and moves towards the door. “Good,” he says, and puts his hand on the door.

“I love you too,” Clint blurts out as he opens it. “Please be careful.”

“Promise,” Bucky says, and then he’s gone, with nothing but the closing of the door to indicate he’d been there at all.

* * *

Clint _wants_ to spend the day in bed, obsessively checking his email. But then the dog shelter calls him in to help train new volunteers, and then Tasha wants to get lunch, and then Thor can’t figure out how to work the new computers Tony set up for him. So all in all, it’s a busy day, and the result is that by the time he gets home, he’s exhausted, worn out, and wants nothing more than to crawl into Bucky’s arms.

Except Bucky’s not there, and Clint is alone in his stupid, empty apartment. He stares into his stupid, empty fridge, then slams it shut and resolves to just crawl alone into his stupid, empty bed—

“Email,” he says suddenly, and scrambles for his phone, yanking it out of his pocket. “Email, email, email—”

There’s a whole bunch of new ones. Some from Tony, which he promptly deletes without reading. Some from work—he skims those, but it’s nothing urgent, so he sets them aside for Future Clint to deal with.

And there, at the very bottom of the list, is one from Bucky. The subject line just reads _Tuesday_ and when Clint opens it, there’s an attached video file and a couple lines of instruction.

_Clint,_

_I know you’re missing me (and I’m missing you), but I’m hoping this will help at least a little bit. You can go get the box now—thank you for being a good boy and waiting. Follow the instructions in the video, and call me when you’re done, okay? I love you._

_Bucky_

Even just _reading_ the words “good boy” gets a response out of him—Clint feels like he should be indignant about being trained like that, but it’s hard when all the blood is leaving his head and flowing elsewhere. So he just gets off the bed and goes into his closet, grabbing the purple box from the top shelf and carrying it back to bed. 

He starts to take off the top, then stops, looking back at the email. Bucky just said _go get it,_ not that he could open it. So he should wait. Right?

Clint hesitates for a moment, fingers hovering over the lid. Then he sighs and opens the video attachment, letting it load. “You are so far gone for this guy,” he says, staring at his barely-visible reflection in the black screen. “Seriously.”

The video loads, and Clint immediately forgets his objections as Bucky appears. He’s clearly in some kind of motel room, although Clint can’t tell where exactly. He settles himself on the bed, then grins at the camera, warming Clint’s heart even from a distance. “Hi, doll. Thought we’d try something a little different this time.” He tucks one of his legs up on the bed. “You can go ahead and open the box now, since I know you haven’t yet.” There’s a sly look in his eye.

“Bastard,” Clint mutters, sticking out his tongue, but he pauses the video, then flicks the lid off the box and looks inside. “Oh, _nice_.”

It’s a sleek black dildo. Nothing super fancy, but nice, and Clint nods in appreciation. Bucky had had a little chat with him about their sex toy collection— _“everything we own is purple, Clint, would it kill us to branch out a little in colors?”_ —so that’s probably what prompted this. Not that Clint really considers _black_ to be branching out, but it’s Bucky’s favorite color, and he’s got a point about everything else being purple.

There’s a new cock ring too, which Clint had half been expecting. They’d lost their other one somewhere in the move from the Tower to Bed-Stuy, and Bucky had been promising to get another for weeks.

They’d also lost Clint’s kazoo collection along the way, although Clint has his suspicions that was more on purpose than anything else. Bucky had expressed a deep dislike for the kazoos the moment he heard one, to the point of tugging it out of Clint’s hand and saying, “If you ever make that noise again, I will kill you.”

Which Clint, of course, translated to “please annoy me with these as often as possible.” It had almost become a game between them, with Bucky hiding the kazoos and Clint finding them, or buying more. Then they’d moved, and the box of them had mysteriously vanished.

“No clue,” Bucky had said when Clint asked him. “Maybe they threw it into the river.”

“Uh-huh,” Clint had said dryly, and promptly ordered a hundred more.

He shoves the thoughts of kazoo revenge aside for now and hits play on the video, anticipation already spilling through him. He has an inkling of how this is going to go, and he’s excited.

“Okay,” Bucky says. “This is gonna be a little awkward. Me just talking to an empty room. Um.” He looks unsure for a moment, and Clint smiles. He loves it when Bucky gets all bossy with him, pushes him around a little, but he loves this too. These quiet, hesitant moments when Bucky’s not exactly sure of himself. It’s sweet.

On-screen, Bucky shakes himself. “It’ll be fine,” he says. “It’s you. I could probably make a video of me laying here watching TV for two hours and you’d love it.”

“I would,” Clint assures him, because he’s got a point. Clint just likes to look at Bucky. Doesn’t really matter what he’s doing.

Bucky smiles slightly, like he can really hear Clint. “Okay,” he says. “Go ahead and get naked for me, darling.”

Clint immediately strips off his shirt, awkwardly wriggling his way out of his pants before shoving it all off the bed. On-screen, Bucky sighs. “Oh, and pick them up and put them away nicely.”

“How do you _know?”_ Clint asks, but he gets off the bed and picks up the clothes, folding them and putting them on top of the dresser. Then he crawls back on the covers, and is greeted by the sight of a now shirtless-Bucky.

“Good,” he says, sprawling back on the bed. “Get some lube from the drawer, and make yourself comfortable. For the rest of this, you’re following my instructions. Every one of them. Got it?”

Clint grabs the lube and gets himself comfortable, balancing his phone on a semi-precarious assortment of pillows and blankets. If he were smart, he would’ve set this up on his tablet. But at this point, that would require starting over, and he really doesn’t feel like doing that. So he just arranges things, then hits play, lazily drifting a hand down towards his cock.

He doesn’t touch, though. Bucky hasn’t given him permission. 

“So,” Bucky says. “First thing I want you to do is touch yourself. _Not_ your dick,” he adds, as Clint’s hand predictably moves there first. “No. Everything except that. Think about what I’d be doing, if I was next to you. Where my hands would be.”

His arms, Clint thinks, casually stroking his fingertips along his arm. Bucky loves his arms, likes watching him do archery, likes pressing them down into the bed, likes seeing him pull against restraints—

“I like touching you,” Bucky says. “Like making you wait for it. You make such pretty sounds when you’re trying to be quiet, and your eyes—god, the way you look at me sometimes—” He trails off, shaking his head. “You’re amazing. I can’t believe I got so lucky.”

Clint makes a soft noise, his hands stalling as they drift over his chest. He doesn’t know what Bucky means by that, _he’s_ the one who got lucky—of all the people in the world, Bucky chose _Clint_ , who’s pretty much the walking interpretation of a dumpster fire. 

“Stop that,” Bucky says. “You’re perfect, and quit thinking otherwise.”

“How do you _know?”_ Clint asks the video, and there’s a slight smile, like Bucky can hear him.

“You’re probably asking how I know you’re doing that,” Bucky says. “It’s because I know you. Also, you’re predictable.”

Clint flips off the screen, then starts laughing as Bucky flips him off right back. “Okay, fine,” he says. “You’re a dick.”

Bucky grins, then leans back a little. “Keep touching yourself,” he says. “Play with your nipples. Whatever feels good; you know what you like.”

It’s suspiciously nice, but Clint’s not going to argue. He plucks at his nipples, rolling them between his fingers, pinching just a little. Just enough to make his breath catch.

“I wish I could see you,” Bucky says. “All laid out and pretty for me. Making those cute little noises. We should do this live, next time.”

“Yes,” Clint says, moving his thumbs in little circles. “Ah—yes, _please_ —”

“Or I’ll make you record it,” Bucky muses. “I’d like something nice to come back to at the end of the day.” He’s rubbing a hand over his own pants, the bulge of his cock very noticeable through the thin grey material. “There’s a thought. Send me a picture, honey. Right now. Let me see you.”

Clint fumbles for his phone with one hand, tugging it loose from the charger and pausing the video before angling it up for a picture. He almost drops it on his face, but manages to save it in time, snapping a somewhat blurry image and sending it to Bucky.

A moment later, his phone buzzes. _Very nice, doll. Keep going._

_I like the sweatpants_ , he texts back.

_You should, they’re yours._

Clint narrows his eyes and looks a little closer, and yep—those are his.

_Rude._

_You’re wearing my shirt._

_Am not. I’m naked._

_Brat._

_Jerk._

_Watch your video, sweetheart._

He sets it on his little stand again, pushing the charger back into place, and cueing the video up again. “I’m guessing you just did that,” Bucky says. “Can’t wait to see it.” He’s still wearing his pants, still lazily rubbing his cock over them. “Slide your hands down your body. You can’t touch your dick, but you can get close to it. Light touches. Think about last time we were together, and I tied you up. Teased you for hours. You were crying by the end of it, remember? You looked damn good like that, all flushed and pretty and begging. Bet you still have the marks from it.”

He does still have the marks from it. They’re fading, but he’s got them, faint red lines around his wrists. He wants them to stay longer, wants them to stay until Bucky comes back—

“If I were there I’d be holding you down,” Bucky says. “I like tying you up, but I think I’d rather do it myself this time. Pin your wrists to the bed, watch you struggle. You’d have good bruises from that, I bet. You’d like them.”

Clint would _love_ them. He wraps his fingers around his left wrist, squeezing hard. It’s not the same. “I want that,” he says to the empty room. “God, Bucky—”

“Get the lube,” Bucky says. “You’re gonna touch that pretty cock for me now. Get yourself worked up, and then go ahead and put that cock ring on.”

Clint follows his instructions, warming the lube up in his hand before wrapping it around his cock. He’s already half-hard, has been for a while, and he gives himself only a few strokes before sliding the cock ring on. He carefully puts it on himself, twisting it until his balls are through the second loop, until it’s settled against his skin. There’s a little vibrator on it that sets behind his balls, and he adjusts that before hitting play on the video again.

“I wish I could see,” Bucky says. He’s easing his own pants—Clint’s pants—down, wrapping a hand around himself. “Keep touching yourself, doll. Get that cock nice and hard for me.”

“Fuck,” Clint says, but he keeps going, keeps moving his hand. It doesn’t take long—it feels like all his nerves are in his dick right now, it’s so fucking sensitive. “Oh, god, _Bucky_...”

“Bet you’re saying my name right now,” Bucky says, rubbing a thumb over the head of his own cock. “I like it when you say my name. Makes me feel good, knowing I made you get that way. You sensitive, sweetheart? You wish I was there, touching you?”

“Yes,” Clint says instantly. “I want that, fuck—”

“I’d tease you,” Bucky says. “Just barely touch you. Watch you squirm for it. One finger, just slowly running up that hard cock. Do that for me, love. One finger.”

“Aah,” Clint says, forcing himself to let go. He runs a single finger up his dick, base to tip, slowly teasing himself like he knows Bucky would. ”Fucking—Buck, please—”

“You begging for it already?” Bucky asks, and Clint blushes. “I know you are, you’re so sweet for me. Always so polite. Go ahead, honey. You can touch yourself. But that’s it. No moving. Just put your hand around that big cock and close your eyes. Think about how desperate you are already. We’ve barely even started, and you’re ready to come, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Clint breathes, swallowing hard. “Yeah—yes.” God, he’s ready. He isn’t sure if he should be embarrassed about that or not. Not that coming is going to be much of a relief, not with the cock ring on. He’s in for the long haul on this one—a thought that both thrills and slightly terrifies him.

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Bucky tells him. “You can come when I say you can.”

“Okay,” Clint breathes, and his voice is already trembling.

“You can move your hand,” Bucky says. “Up and down. Keep it slow. I want you to match me.” He slowly fists his own dick, twisting his wrist on the upstroke. “Everything I do. Unless I tell you otherwise.” He grins, tipping his head back. “Bet you’re making that face right now. Flashing sad puppy eyes at me, trying to get what you want. Doesn’t work on me, sweetheart.”

“Does too,” Clint mutters, sticking his tongue out.

“Does not,” Bucky counters.

Clint laughs. “Did you bug the fucking room or something? _How do you know?”_

Bucky doesn’t answer that one. He just keeps jerking himself off with slow, languid movements, occasionally pausing to rub his thumb over the head of his cock, spreading precome everywhere.

“If you were here,” Bucky says, his words a little breathier, “I’d think I’d have you on your knees. I had a nice thought about you on your knees, all pretty and naked for me, keeping my cock warm in your mouth while I worked on other things. I bet you’d make a nice picture like that.” A lazy grin slides over his face. “Actually, I _know_ you make a nice picture like that.” He reaches out, adjusts the camera. “You remember Los Angeles?”

Oh, yeah. He remembers Los Angeles. SHIELD had sent them on a mission, gotten them a five-star hotel to go with their covers. Except two days in, their target had turned herself in, and Bucky had convinced Steve to let them stay the extra three days. Which had pretty much turned into three days of sex, with breaks for sitting in their Jacuzzi and ordering ridiculously expensive cheeseburgers from room service.

Oh, and one memorable period of time where Clint had been on his knees, arms behind his back and Bucky’s cock in his mouth. Not blowing him, just holding it. He’d thought the idea kind of stupid at first, but he tried because Bucky asked, and it only took a few minutes for him to get the idea. There was something hot as hell about being ignored while in such an intimate position.

“You were amazing,” Bucky says, adding a twist of his wrist on the upstroke. “I mean, you always are. But when you’re not around, and I wanna get off? I think about that. Think about you on your knees, those gorgeous blue eyes looking up at me, pink lips wrapped around my cock—” He cuts off with a groan and stops, taking his hand off his dick entirely. And because he does, so does Clint, letting go of his own dick with a noise of protest.

Bucky lets out a shaky laugh. “Gonna come if I keep that up,” he says. “Not that that’s a big deal— _I’m_ allowed to come. But I kinda wanna stretch it out a little, you know? Keep it in the moment.” He sighs, letting his hand fall to the bed. “Go back to your nipples, darling. Get them nice and wet for me.”

Clint sucks on his fingers for a moment, then swirls them around his nipples again, flicking and rolling them between his fingers. He closes his eyes, imagining cool metal fingers instead of his own, or Bucky’s mouth, nibbling and teasing and—

“Stop,” Bucky says, and Clint stops with a sharp gasp. “Get the lube and get comfortable. We need to open you up a bit. Got you that fancy new dildo and all.” He smiles. “I know it’s not as good as me, but at least it’s not purple.”

Clint snickers, rearranging himself so he can get better access. “Purple is fantastic,” he says. “You can go fuck yourself.”

“One finger,” Bucky says. “Nice and slow. Make it last. Think about how I would do it.”

“I know how you’d do it,” Clint mutters, rubbing around the tight ring of muscle. “Just like this. You’d take your damn time with it, get me all...” He pauses, trailing off as he presses one finger inside. “Fuck.”

“You can use your other hand,” Bucky says. “Touch anything you want, except that cock.” He goes back to touching his own, which Clint finds distinctly unfair. “I know you want to. I know you’re hard and aching for it already.”

He is. His dick is purple-red and throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and Clint wants nothing more than to wrap his fist around it, give himself some relief. But he doesn’t. He keeps fucking himself with one finger, the other hand sliding around on every inch of bare skin he can reach. Imagines it’s Bucky’s hand, Bucky’s fingers ghosting over his skin, possessive and warm and perfect. Imagines his mouth leaving a trail of kisses down Clint’s chest, stubble scraping on the sensitive skin—

“Okay,” Bucky says. “Two fingers, now.”

Clint adds more lube and a second finger. It’s not enough, but it’s better than one.

“Good,” Bucky croons softly. “Of course, that’s not enough, is it? Not for you. You always want more. Always askin’ me for more.” His voice is rougher now. “That cock ring vibrates, sweetheart. I want you to turn that on.”

“Oh shit,” Clint says, but he does, flicking it on. He nearly bites through his lip at the sensation, the gentle buzzing against his perineum almost too much. “Motherfucking—”

“Don’t come,” Bucky orders him. “Don’t even think about it. I’m nowhere near done with you.”

Clint pants through a couple breathes, then nods and turns his eyes back to the phone. He’s marginally in control of himself. “I’m good,” he assures the screen. He _knows_ Bucky can’t hear him, but it feels better to talk out loud, like if he really was here. Checking in and colors and all of that—Clint’s never been in a relationship where his partner _cared_ about him so much, and he’s gotten used to it.

“Three fingers,” Bucky says. “Other hand on the bed. Imagine me holding it down.”

He’s always game to imagine that. He loves being held down.

“Wish I could see you,” Bucky says thoughtfully. “Maybe next time we’re together, you play this video again, and I just get to sit and enjoy the view. I’d like that, I think. Watch you play with yourself. See how pretty you look.” He rubs just under the head of his cock, making the same moaning noise he always does. Clint is weirdly jealous of his hand. “Send me another picture.”

He does, fingers even more fumbling than last time. The response is just as quick. _You’re so fucking beautiful._

_Come see it in person._

_Wish I could._

Clint goes back to the video, ignoring the tight feeling suddenly in his chest. This is undeniably hot, but he wants Bucky to be _here_ with him.

“Get over yourself,” he says, and plays the video again.

“Okay,” Bucky tells him. “Go ahead and get the dildo. I’m gonna let you pick this part too—whatever position you want. I want you to be comfortable.” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice that says Clint’s not going to be comfortable for long, but that doesn’t matter. Not now.

He gets comfortable. He follows Bucky’s instructions—lubes up the dildo, slides it into himself, _finally_ fists a hand around his aching cock. It’s still all tortuously slow, because Bucky’s personal mission in life is to drive Clint _insane_ —but it’s better than nothing. He nearly starts crying when Bucky finally tells him to go faster, to make his hand tighter, to—

“Stop,” Bucky says, and Clint really does start crying then. “Three deep breaths, and then you can go again.”

“Fuck you,” Clint gasps. The vibration is still on, tortuously low buzzing against his skin, setting off endless fireworks along his nerves. “Fuck you, seriously—”

“Stop cursing at me, doll. You can do it.”

“How do you _know?”_

“Go on. Just like before.” He walks Clint through it, slow motion to fast, and then stop—

Three deep breaths, and again—

And again—

And _again_ —

_Insane_ , Clint thinks, gasping at the ceiling as Bucky tells him to let go for the sixth time. He’s actually going to go crazy. This is it. Bucky’s going to crack his mind open and absolutely shatter him. He’s going to come back to a blubbering, whimpering mess of a boyfriend.

“Okay,” Bucky says, _finally_ having the decency to sound like he’s on edge himself. “Okay, doll. You can come if you want, but then you have to keep going after that. I’ll let you turn off the vibration, but you’re not stopping until _I_ come. Got it?”

“Yes,” Clint sobs, literally ready to agree to anything as long as he can just—fucking—

“Okay doll,” Bucky says, all soothing and sweet. “Go ahead. You can come.”

Clint can’t really see anymore. There’s a blinding white tint to his vision, fuzziness around the edges. He’s not even sure he’s actually breathing. He’s just _need_ , just an endless, writhing puddle of desire.

But at those words, something in him flips. It was just the permission he needed, the quiet words settling into his bones, allowing him to tip over that edge. Clint vaguely thinks there should be an explosion, maybe, or a firework, or something big to commemorate the moment—but instead he just kind of feels...weightless. Boneless. Like he’s floating on water, or like he’s waiting for a target, lost in the space between heartbeats. There’s a rush of _relief_ that’s nearly as overwhelming as the orgasm itself, curling its way up his spine and into his brain.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hand stilling for a moment. “Oh, fuck—”

“Keep going,” Bucky orders him, and Clint does. There’s a moment where it feels good, working himself through the orgasm, stretching out the sated feelings as long as possible.

And then it starts to tip into oversensitivity, into something that’s both painful and not-painful, except that it’s mostly the first one, but it’s also not, and he doesn’t know—he can’t—

Clint sobs again, writhing pathetically. Even flicking off the vibrations doesn’t help; it’s like putting a bandaid on a gaping wound.

He could stop. He could. Bucky would never know.

He doesn’t.

He could safe word out. Bucky would understand.

He doesn’t do that either.

Instead, he forces his eyes open, makes himself look at the video. Bucky’s head is tipped back, and he’s breathing hard. “--all the fucking time,” he’s saying, hand moving on his cock. “Get my mouth all over you, and my hands, make you fucking cry for it—”

Bucky trails off into a moan, and he comes on his hand, stomach muscles tightening in a way that Clint would appreciate if he could actually _see_.

_“Fuck,”_ Bucky breathes, and drops his hand, slumping against the bed a little. “You can stop.”

Clint immediately lets go, collapsing backwards, panting like he’s run a marathon. He _feels_ like he’s run a marathon—he’s sweaty, and gross, and his whole body is buzzing, tingling, like his skin is made of static.

There’s a moment of silence where they both recover. Then Bucky groans quietly and sits up, his muscles flexing again. “God,” he mutters, and lets out a shaky little laugh. “I fucking wish I could’ve seen that. Bet you look amazing.”

He rubs a hand over his face. “I want you to get cleaned up, when you’re ready. Drink water. Eat a snack. I put those cashews you like in my nightstand. Eat those, then call me.” He pauses, then adds, “I love you, darlin’. I’m sorry I can’t be there to do all that for you.”

The video stops.

“I love you too,” Clint says to the frozen image of his boyfriend, desperately wishing it was the real thing.

He takes the cock ring off. Sets it and the dildo to the side. Forces himself to get up and take them to the bathroom, sponging himself off with a washcloth before cleaning them up. He should shower, but he doesn’t really want to. He just wants to curl up with Bucky and sleep.

He grabs Bucky’s hoodie and sweatpants from the closet and pulls them on instead. Clint is taller, but the hoodie somehow still seems to engulf him, the long sleeves trailing over his hands, while the pants end somewhere above his ankles. It creates a comically mismatched look, but he doesn’t care. He pulls the hood over his head and crawls back into bed, reaching over to snag the cashews from the nightstand. They’re the good ones, the chile and garlic kind, and he pops a couple in his mouth before picking up his phone and hitting Bucky’s name.

Bucky answers after a couple rings. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Clint says through another mouthful.

“Did you get water?”

“Mm. No. Hang on.” Clint climbs out of bed and stumbles to the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m just checking.” Bucky hesitates, then says, “Did...was that okay?”

“You’re a sadist,” Clint tells him, and Bucky laughs. “And I loved it.”

“Good,” Bucky says, sounding relieved. “I wasn’t sure—”

“You were right,” Clint says as he wraps a blanket around his shoulders. “I would watch a video of you doing anything. You could be sleeping, and I’d watch—no, wait. That sounds creepy.” He clears his throat. “It was great. We should do it again.”

Bucky laughs again. “I have something better,” he says. “I’m on my way home.”

Clint sits up straighter. “You are?” He can’t hide the excitement in his voice. “For how long?”

“For good,” Bucky says. “We’re done. Things are taken care of. I might even be able to tell you what we did.”

“I don’t care,” Clint says. “As long as you’re here—I just want you—” He cuts off, tucking his knees up into his chest.

“I want you too.” Bucky sighs. “I had fun making that, but I’d rather do it in person. Pictures don’t really cut it.”

Clint smiles. “When?”

“Flight gets in around three in the morning.”

“Gross,” Clint says. “That’s not a real time, Bucky.”

“Go to sleep, doll. I’ll be there when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Clint flops onto the bed, curling up into the blankets. “Wake me up when you get here,” he says.

_“That’s not a real time, Bucky,”_ Bucky mocks, and Clint sticks his tongue out. “I’m not even gonna try to wake you up. And don’t make faces at me.”

“How the _fuck_ do you know that?” Clint asks, but he’s laughing. “Every time, seriously. Did you bug the room?”

“Because I know you,” Bucky says. “Now go to sleep. I love you. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“I love you too,” Clint says, and he hangs up. He’s dead tired, so it doesn’t take him long to fall asleep. And there’s no nightmares, for once, no cold dreams about Loki’s fingers running over him, no lingering shivers to plague him when he wakes up.

Instead, he wakes up warm, and happy, with a heavy metal arm draped over his chest. As soon as consciousness vaguely returns, he rolls over and smooths Bucky’s hair out of his face. “You’re back.”

Bucky cracks an eye open, sleepy and fond. “Mmhmm.”

“Kiss me,” Clint demands, and Bucky does. “When did you get in?”

“Later than I wanted. You sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” Clint says. “Somebody wore me out pretty good.”

Bucky grins. “Dunno what you’re talking about,” he says, and plants a kiss on Clint’s nose. “Want breakfast?”

“Yes,” Clint says immediately. “Waffles?”

“I can make waffles.”

“ _I’ll_ make waffles.” Clint gets up. “You were up all morning. Night. Whatever.”

Bucky grabs him, pulling him back down into bed. “Get back here,” he says, and there’s a mischievous grin on his face that Clint just _has_ to kiss off him. “I missed you.”

“You’re not leaving again.” Clint flops over on top of him, snickering at the muffled grunt of pain. “If Steve wants you, he’s gonna have to go through me.”

“I’d like to see that fight.”

“I have a katana.”

“He has a shield, darlin’.”

“I fight dirtier than he does.”

Bucky considers for a moment, then shrugs. “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “I’m all yours. I told Steve if he calls me at any point in the next week, I’ll throw him off a building.”

Clint grins. “I’ll help.”

“Good.” Bucky yawns and stretches, then pats Clint’s shoulder. “Come on. Waffles. We’ll have breakfast, and then I have an idea.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I was thinking we were gonna be gone for a few days,” Bucky says. “So I made more of those. The videos. I made one for every day I’d be gone.” He slides his hand under the sweatshirt, rubbing cold metal over bare skin. “So maybe we get some fuel in you, then come back here and see what the other ones have to say.” He kisses Clint again, slow and easy. “Or we just sit together and watch _Dog Cops_. Or we do something else entirely.”

“Is there an ‘all of the above’ option?” Clint asks. “Because I’d like that.”

“Whatever you want,” Bucky says, honest and sincere. “Anything. I mean it.”

There’s more cuddling, after that, followed by the kind of slow, unhurried morning sex that Clint loves the most. They do finally get up to make waffles, half-naked and distracted and laughing the whole time. There’s an indescribable feeling of happiness in Clint’s chest throughout the whole morning, something that only seems to show up when Bucky’s around.

_This is where you belong,_ he thinks, watching Bucky try and scrape a blackened, burned waffle out of the machine. _Both of you._

“What’s that look for?” Bucky asks, glancing at him, and Clint doesn’t even bother trying to hide what’s probably a dopey grin.

“Nothing,” is all he says. “I’m just happy you’re home.”

Bucky smiles at him, soft and sure, and tugs him forward. “Me too,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to Clint’s mouth. “Love you, doll.”

“You too,” Clint says, and kisses him back.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Bêta'ed as always by the lovely [clintscoffeepot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clintscoffeepot/pseuds/clintscoffeepot). Thank you!


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